Gym Rats

I got suckered in again.

Yeah, to that whole “gym” thing. The pants are too snug, and I’d like to cut the winter laziness off at the pass. I’ve been super busy this summer with tons of stuff on the social calendar, but I need something more. Something to do during the blah days of winter to keep me from flinging myself off the balcony in a fit of despair. So… the gym it is. Plus, D got us a sweet deal through his work, and you just can’t say no to savings like that!

Our membership officially began on Saturday. So this past week I decided to make the most of my last days of freedom. In other words, I ate like a heathen. One morning I ate skittles for breakfast. Not any ordinary skittles either. Skittles Riddles!

The next bite is more confusing than the last!

The riddle behind these skittles? The colours don’t match the flavours. Mmm, and I had a fantastic Vanilla Coke to further muddle the riddles. So that was a fine culinary adventure indeed.

Also, I rocked a motherfucking Big Smoke Burger for lunch on Thursday (if you haven’t had it yet, you MUST), KFC for staff lunch Friday, and then Friday night I ate about 12 Rice Krispie squares during the Breaking Bad marathon I had with D, Joss, and Harry.

My undergrad years taught me that all high people like Rice Krispie squares

And there was some chocolate milk and dill pickle chips in the mix too because my boss had it for a work snack one day and it piqued my curiosity. You know, I needed to see if that was still my favourite snack too. Mystery solved! No surprise twist ending here, I still love me some DP chips and chocolate milk.

Hmmm, re-reading those last two paragraphs I guess I can’t really say I got suckered into a gym membership. I’m starting to see it as a necessity now…

We had gym memberships back in the RHill, but we decided to forego them this summer because we wanted time to settle into our new lives. And now that the dust has settled, quite nicely on the pudge mind you, it’s time to get back to kicking the treadmill’s ass 4 times a week.

There’s a GoodLife Fitness literally 2 minutes away from our apartment, which is ideal because we had to drive to the last gym we were members at. And since I don’t drive, I could really only go whenever D felt like going too. This gym being right at my fingertips is what I need. Partly because it’s accessible, and partly because I can sprint home to my shower. I’m a little bit neurotic about showers, so this is a very big plus point for me. Ooo and towel service too! (P.S. I just had a really hard time writing that last sentence because the auto-correct kept turning “Ooo” into “Poo”. I had to correct it five times before it would stick!)

Annnnnnd I got a free gym bag too!

FREE!

I fucking love free shit! I prioritize what kind of 6-pack I’m going to buy at the LCBO based on freebies. Sorry Carlsberg, but Grolsch is giving away half pint glasses this week!

Although, I may not get to use this free bag at all because Harvey thinks it belongs to him now…

He’s gotta get to his aerobics class!

So after a week of bingeing like a maniac, I was ready for Saturday to absolve me of all my foodie sins. Laced up the sneaks, loaded the iPod with my favourite workout jams, and then reassured myself in the bathroom mirror that I’m too young to die suddenly on a treadmill no matter how out of shape I am.

Ahhhh! The smell of spandex and bros on a hungover Saturday afternoon. Is there any other smell on the planet that can make me feel both self-conscious and embraced at the same time?

The gym wasn’t overly busy, I was able to get a machine right away. I debated starting off gently with an easygoing pace vs. pushing myself to see how much stamina I still had. Then I figured, fuck it, I’ve got a lot of guilt on my hips this week so it’s better to be brave and fail as opposed to wussing out completely. I programmed the machine for 40 minutes at 7 mph and held on for dear life.

At first I huffed and puffed like I was going to blow the whole gym down, and then eventually I slipped back into that familiar rhythm. My muscles responded like crispy, neglected houseplants. They soaked up every ounce of exertion that I doled out. I bobbed along to the music, checked out some of the tight butts on the machines in front of me for motivation, and let myself get lost in sweaty progression.

Before I knew it, 40 minutes was up. Oh the ecstasy! I had fucking crushed my first workout. Boo-yaaa, take that fellow gym rats. Smash is back with a vengeance! It was by far the most glorious moment of my week. And that’s no easy feat considering how many delicious moments I had this week.

I think the best strategy for me is to keep up with the gym while I slowly ween myself off the junky foods that make me swoon. I mean, I’m not going to cut things out entirely. I’ll still rock the occasional skittle breakfast when needed, let’s not be insane here people.

Working out feels so good. Not as good as eating whatever the fuck I want will ever feel, more of a distant second to that. “Being healthy” is a totally foreign concept to me. There’s nothing I despise more on this planet than a fucking salad. Why don’t I just save the 8 bucks and munch on the front lawn for free?

I may not adapt well to these changes initially, but for now I’m gonna get me some strange and see how I like it. And I will count every workout that I survive as a tremendous victory for that day.

Treadmill, you’re my bitch now! And don’t you ever forget it.

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